


Forget-Me-Not

by LittleSpinne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-10
Updated: 2013-11-10
Packaged: 2018-01-01 01:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1038538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSpinne/pseuds/LittleSpinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU/post-Battle of Hogwarts/smut with plot. Neville accepts an offer from Harry to stay at Grimmauld Place, eager to leave his childhood home and make it on his own. He secures a position in training to be Professor Sprout's assistant in the newly-restored Hogwarts greenhouses, but these are not the only new waters that Neville must learn to navigate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Birthday Bombardment

Neville Longbottom had always been forgetful as a boy, and that had not changed much with age. He forgot to leave his bedroom window open, which was why he clamored to do so when the owl bearing his _Daily Prophet_ hooted indignantly from outside his second-story window. His grandmother still refused to subscribe to the paper after what they had written about Harry Potter prior to the Battle of Hogwarts, but Neville needed to find a place for rent. Harry had mentioned that he might be renting out bedrooms from the house his godfather, Sirius Black, had left him in London. From what Neville heard, it used to be the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix. He had yet to hear from Harry, though, and in the meantime he decided to keep an eye out for openings in areas in or near London.

As a reward for their bravery, those witches and wizards that contributed to the victory over Lord Voldemort received automatic passes on their written and practical N.E.W.T.s as recommended by those professors on the field during the battle, and Neville had received recommendations from all of his professors. Still, he chose to stay in the vein of Herbology by following in the footsteps of Pomona Sprout. Until the battle, Neville had wondered if the Sorting Hat had made a mistake by sorting him into Gryffindor, but after the battle he could no longer doubt himself in that regard. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley were surely well on their way to becoming Aurors, but Neville felt he had proved his mettle as a Gryffindor and was more than content to live the rest of his life with no more excitement than the average wizard.

After browsing the housing ads in the _Prophet_ , Neville stood up in his childhood bedroom, stretching, and went to his closet for robes. As he undressed from his nightclothes and pulled a pair of fresh robes over himself, he noticed a sight off in the distance from his window. Several misshapen lumps were soaring through the air over the moor, and it took a moment for him to realize that they were owls. Neville made his way to his window and watched with interest. Maybe his grandmother had ordered something by owl order, or perhaps it was something from Hogwarts. Rather than heading for the first story, though, the birds swooped toward his window, and Neville shunted aside, slightly taken aback.

Envelopes, postcards, and parcels were deposited on his bed by owls of assorted shapes, sizes, and colors. Large barn owls and impatient little puffs of feathers alike began pouring in and out of his bedroom from all sides. Overwhelmed, Neville stood aghast, until he looked again at the date on the front of the _Daily Prophet_. With a start, he realized it was his eighteenth birthday.

Owls were coming in from off in the distance, and Neville decided to leave his window open while he sat at his desk and began to sort through the mail. Many of the letters and postcards were from fellow classmates and even people who had read about him in the _Daily Prophet_ ’s coverage after the battle, wishing him a happy birthday. Some of the envelopes rattled with coins or were laden with strange foreign currencies. Neville felt touched that so many people thought of him, and had remembered his birthday when even he had forgotten. A familiar hoot came from the window, and as he turned to greet Harry’s spotted eagle owl, Pigwidgeon collided with the side of his head, the letter in his clutches delivering a swift paper cut to the crest of Neville’s ear.

The letter fell to the ground, and Neville stooped to pick it up. Tiberius, Harry’s owl, gave a soft hoot and was much calmer with his delivery, a small cake with a letter attached to the top of the box. Neville gave Tiberius an affectionate pat on his regal-looking head. Pigwidgeon whizzed out of the window, followed shortly by his larger, calmer companion. Neville tore Harry’s letter open quickly, eyes hungrily scanning the page.

_Neville,_

_Happy birthday! Sorry I haven’t written lately, but things have been busy here at Grimmauld Place. Hermione convinced Ron and I to call a magical cleaning crew after we found most of the house destroyed. I guess the Death Eaters did manage to get into the place while we were out hunting down bits of Voldemort. The good news is that we managed to remove a portrait of Sirius’s mother—if you’d met her, you’d know it was no loss whatsoever—from the wreckage. She’d had the thing stuck to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm, but I suppose if there’s no wall anymore, it doesn’t work nearly as well._

_There’s still a room with your name on it, if you want. Ron and Hermione both have rooms, and maybe a few other people from Hogwarts once it’s all said and done. We’d be glad to have you, and there’s no need to worry about rent. We can work out arrangements later._

_Wishing you all the best,_  
 _Harry_

Neville’s heart soared as he read the letter. Harry really did want him to come and stay; the offer wasn’t empty, after all! He pulled out a quill and a bit of parchment from one of the desk drawers and began to scratch out a reply right away.

Of course he would like to stay, and the matter of rent was nothing, really. He received a sum on behalf of the Ministry and was looking forward to working at Hogwarts in the coming term, the first since the school had been rebuilt and restored. He would expect to pay for his stay, and as he wasn’t particularly fond of Apparition, he would be able to catch the Hogwarts Express with a much shorter commute. He wished Harry a happy birthday in turn, and informed him that his present (a new traveling case that attached to his Firebolt, though he did not mention this in the letter) should be arriving by owl order.

Ron’s letter wished him a happy birthday and also had several paragraphs from Hermione, both of them expressing their happiness that they would be sharing quarters with fellow members of Gryffindor. Neville wrote out replies to them as well, and opened a few more letters. By early afternoon, he’d managed to read all but one. An unassuming envelope sat on his bedspread, and he picked it up. At first, he thought it was another letter from someone he didn’t know, but upon closer inspection he recognized the handwriting. It was from Seamus Finnigan, and Neville suddenly felt his heart leap up his throat.

During their stay in the Room of Requirement, Neville and Seamus had spent lots of time alone. Sometimes, they snuck out to the Hog’s Head together and other times they stayed holed up with naught but one another for company. While private memories flashed through his mind, Neville ran his fingers over the edges of the envelope. He opened it slowly, and sat at his desk once more to read.

_Nev,_  
  
 _I haven’t forgotten. I don’t think I could, even if I tried. Sometimes it’s all I think about, and that’s feckin’ strange for me. I’m not the sentimental sort, as me Mam would say, but there’s a feelin’ in me that I nigh can put a finger on. You’re under my skin, I’m stuck on you, and I need to know if you feel the same._

_Happy birthday,_  
 _Seamus_

Neville’s heart thundered in his chest. He hadn’t forgotten. In fact, the night that Seamus had mentioned had been the subject of Neville’s frequent thoughts for several months. It was late at night in the Room of Requirement, shortly after Seamus’s seventeenth birthday. They’d managed to acquire firewhiskey from the Hog’s Head, and it was growing later and later. Drinks were poured, lips were loosened, and it didn’t take long before Neville and Seamus were spilling secrets and then, suddenly, they were wrapped in one another’s arms. Another secret exposed, as it were, and Neville wondered why they hadn’t taken advantage of their Gryffindor dormitory arrangements in previous years. All of this rushed back to the surface of his mind, along with flashes of memories from that night, and Neville found that there was suddenly a lack of oxygen in his bedroom.

It felt strange, sitting in the room he’d lived in as a child and thinking about Seamus this way. He’d stared at the ceiling many nights, wondering if he’d ever manage to snag a girlfriend, and wondering if it was even worth it to try. After everything that Neville had gone through already in discovering himself, there was still more to uncover when it came to his feelings for Seamus.

_Seamus,_

_The answer’s yes. I haven’t forgotten. I do feel the same. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and start thinking about it, but after the battle, everything was so uncertain for everyone and there were so many losses…it never seemed like the time. I guess that’s not an issue anymore, though. I’m not sure where to go from here, but wherever it is, it’ll be less difficult knowing that I’ve got you._

_I’ll be staying in Diagon Alley, and afterward I’m moving to London. I’ll be at the Leaky Cauldron if you want to meet up for a few drinks._

_Neville_

He sealed the letter in an envelope, his heart knocking against his ribs, a strange feeling in his stomach. He would deliver the letter by owl when he went to Diagon Alley. He didn’t want to use his grandmother’s owl, anyway, for this particular letter. Maybe once he was in Diagon Alley, he’d make a stop at Eeylops Owl Emporium and acquire an owl of his own instead of stopping at the post office. He tucked the letter in his breast pocket, alongside his wand, and left his bedroom for the kitchen.

Neville had missed breakfast, but had made it in time for lunch. His grandmother sat at the table, a sandwich and soup in front of her. She bade him good morning and wished him a happy birthday. He thanked her and tucked into his lunch with vigor. By the time he polished off the fruit tart in front of him, his grandmother had finished her meal and was sitting with her hands folded in front of her. She cleared her throat before she spoke.

“As you know, I’m proud of you for your efforts in bringing down He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” she began briskly, “I knew right then that you finally had earned the sum of your inheritance, to be received on your eighteenth birthday. There are several bonds from members of the family, along with the actual sum bequeathed by your parents in their will.” Her hand moved across the table toward him, and he saw the old key. He hardly knew what to say. “This key opens a vault in your name at Gringotts. I trust you’ll manage it well.” 

Neville and his grandmother always loved one another, the way that family is apt to, but waves of affection were uncommon at best. However, when he saw tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to pool over the lids, standing up and wrapping her in a hug seemed appropriate. She hadn’t said so, but her approval was etched into the lines of her face and the upturned corners of her lips, and Neville felt as though it was his best birthday ever.


	2. Lost and Found

The Leaky Cauldron seemed covered in a perpetual layer of dust, but it didn’t matter much, as Neville had only planned on staying for a few days. He had already had time to talk everything over with his grandmother. It was fairly easy, considering he’d already mentioned living with Harry and his job at Hogwarts. With promises to visit for holidays, Neville had packed his trunk and left for the Leaky Cauldron the evening of his birthday and managed to book a room. 

The bar was somewhat empty, only a few stragglers sitting at tables. Neville hunched over the bar, nursing a drink and contemplating whether he should take a trip to Diagon Alley before the shops closed down. He’d already stopped at the post office to deliver his letter to Seamus, but he hadn’t stopped at Eeylops. He ordered another drink, hardly paying attention when someone sat on the barstool next to him until he heard a voice rich with the roughness of Irish cadence.

“Spare a momen’?” Seamus asked, resting an elbow on the countertop. His blue eyes twinkled, staring back into the gray-green of Neville’s and stealing his breath momentarily. Sandy hair carelessly windswept, Seamus was a sight for sore eyes that stirred a pool of warmth somewhere around Neville’s navel.

“How did you know I was here?” Neville asked, barely able to staunch his astonishment.

“Been stayin’ here an age, so the post owl didn’t have far to go, did it?” Seamus said with a smile.

“I guess not,” Neville replied. There was a pause of silence where greetings should have begun, but Neville was still too stunned. Instead, he slid his drink back across the bar and turned to face Seamus. Words faltered, but luckily he didn’t need them for long. In the moment where Tom the barkeep made off with his glass, Seamus reached over and brushed his thumb over Neville’s knuckles, his eyes lingering where they touched for an extra moment that suggested more beyond the touch.

“You don’ want to talk about this, then?” Seamus whispered. As if in answer, Neville looked around the pub briefly. Possibly he was concerned that someone would overhear their conversation. Neville had always been the cautious sort. Seamus leaned forward. “Or, would you rather discuss this more…privately?” He leaned in, his lips inches from Neville’s right ear, and whispered in a lower voice, “Your room, maybe?” The inflection of his accent made room sound like _rum_ , maybe like _may-bay_.

Neville’s heart sped, his mouth suddenly going dry. He regretted sending his glass back as he dropped several coins on the counter for Tom as a tip, making his way to the stairs toward his room with Seamus only a pace or two behind him.

The door swung open, displaying a slightly dismal, dusty room. That was hardly important, though; not nearly as important as Seamus’s hands against his waist, tugging at the waistband of his jeans beneath his robes, anyway. They’d barely made it to the top of the stairs before Seamus grabbed his arm, spinning him around and pushing him against the wall of the hallway. His lips crashed against Neville’s, his hands pinning Neville’s arms against the wall. Though he was taken by surprise, Neville kissed Seamus back when he regained his breath, and responded enthusiastically. Suddenly, Seamus stopped, his lips hovering milimeters away. “Ah-ah, no more ‘til we’re in your room,” he chided, his voice raspy.

In the room, with Seamus’s fingers locked just above the area that so desperately longed for his attention, Neville kicked the door shut with his foot. Suddenly, it was as though he’d gained sea legs. Though his breath came faster, it wasn’t from panic, but from desire. His robes hit the floor and he started unbuttoning his shirt, kicking off his shoes but tripping over one of Seamus’s. Caught off-guard, Seamus didn’t quite catch Neville so much as broke his fall. The old rug set off a small cloud of dust in protest, but neither boy seemed to notice. Neville’s chest brushed Seamus’s, where his shirt was halfway pulled off before they fell. He moved to sit up, but instead stopped halfway, effectively straddling Seamus. Rather than getting up, Neville decided to use the position to his advantage.

This was different from the touching they’d done before, where they’d stroked one another curiously or mouthed one another for a few seconds experimentally. Neville could feel himself hardening against the front of Seamus’s jeans, and rather than shyly laughing, he pressed firmly against Seamus, leaned over, and took his lower lip between his teeth, biting down at the same time he rolled his hips against Seamus’s. This elicited a groan from the sandy-haired Gryffindor, and Neville chuckled darkly. “Come on, then,” he taunted, pulling his shirt the rest of the way off and helping Seamus with his. He sat up, his knees on either side of Seamus’s hips, unbuttoning Seamus’s jeans. The Irish boy was biting his own lower lip, one hand beneath his head, cushioning it from the floor, his other lazily draped across his stomach. Determined to wipe the cocky look off his face, Neville decided to skip over Seamus’s chest with his lips and instead dipped lower, pausing to nip at Seamus’s navel, causing his mouth to fall open in a small “o” of surprise.

Rather than stopping there, Neville pulled the front of Seamus’s boxers down with a sharp tug, his fingers deftly enclosing the smooth, hard base of Seamus’s cock. He pumped his hand a few times while he worked his way down from bellybutton to soft, sandy curls with his lips. He used the flat of his tongue to wet the palm of his hand before he ran it over the head of Seamus’s cock. Meanwhile, his mouth worked down to the base of his shaft, slowly mouthing his testes while he stroked Seamus until he was fully erect. Then, he sheathed his teeth with his lips and closed them over the head of Seamus’s length, his tongue flattening and running along the tip as if it were a melting ice cream cone until he tasted the tang of precum. 

“Fuck, Nev,” Seamus groaned, bucking his hips gently as his fingers worked into Neville’s brown hair, and for a moment Neville took his entire length and was surprised to discover that it didn’t gag him. Instead, he was able to work Seamus in and out, back and forth from his mouth to the back of his throat. It caused a longer, deeper groan, and Seamus rocked his hips against Neville’s mouth as though he were slowly fucking him. It wasn’t without gratification, as Neville had undone his own pants in order to stroke himself, but Seamus slowed to a stop nonetheless, not wanting to completely lose himself and come in Neville’s mouth. Neville pulled back with a wicked gleam in his eye. Seamus propped himself up, and growled, “Bed, now.”

There was no resistance. Within a minute or two, Neville was completely undressed and lying across the bed. Seamus bent down, snatching a bag out of his robe pocket, and then made his way to the bed. He bent over Neville, his hand lightly grasping the other’s cock, and took the velvet tip of him into his mouth. He was a little less intuitive at first, but quickly made up for it with determination for his cause as he bobbed his head experimentally at first, then faster while his hands cupped Neville’s scrotum, rubbing gently. What at first felt somewhat awkward began to come as almost second nature to Seamus as he worked his mouth over the throbbing cock. Nev tensed a bit, until the warmth in his groin grew like wildfire at the wet, hot feel of Seamus’s mouth and tongue. He’d never felt something quite as exquisite as the feel of a soft mouth around him, though he was eager to explore other options. 

Seamus's mouth was skilled and nearly brought his companion to completion before he pulled back, wanting to at least try one more thing. Earlier that day, after reading the letter that Neville sent, Seamus made a few purchases in Diagon Alley that he hadn't mentioned in anticipation of this night. The first time they tried to experiment, they weren't able to get very far. Both were virgins and therefore it took more than aiming and pushing to achieve the results they wanted. After some reading and self-experimentation, Seamus learned that certain things were necessary, like lube. He extracted a bottle from the pouch he'd kept in the pocket of his robes.

The brunette's eyes shot open at the feel of a little bottle being pressed into his palm. He looked from his hand to Seamus's eyes questioningly. Seamus stared back, his own blues fixated on the stormy green, and grinned. "Well, if you're not going to use it, I suppose I will," he said, plucking the bottle back and popping the cap. He shook it, spilling the coldness into his hand and feeling it warm at his touch. His hand grasped Neville again, pumping up and down his shaft several times. Swollen beneath his fingers, the flesh throbbed. Seamus worked his way up Nev's body, straddling his hips. He felt his partner's hard length against his backside, and tipped the bottle against his palm again, applying more lubrication to the tip of Nev before slowly sinking.

Nev groaned as Seamus slowly came down, feeling the tip slide with more resistance, and then less, and Seamus suddenly found himself glad that he'd taken it slowly. Even when he moved down at a painstaking pace, he could feel himself stretching to accommodate the girth slowly working its way inside of him. The lube made it much easier, in fact, it felt _good_ , better than he'd expected. After a minute of slow working in and out, he finally felt brave enough to sink down until he felt himself grinding against Neville. He felt so incredibly full, but a little past halfway down, a shiver of pleasure had begun tingling inside of him.

Seamus moved up and down haltingly, his breath catching a bit as his hands grasped Neville's waist. His fingernails penetrated a layer of flesh or two as he raked them slowly down pale sides, watching the marks turn white from rib cage to hips. Neville's hips matched his gently at first, and then a little faster. Teasingly, Seamus moved up, removing Neville completely and taunting him with a wiggle of his hips. "What's wrong?" he asked when the expression of frustration crossed Nev's face.

In answer, his former dorm mate sat up with an agile, very un-Neville fluidity to his motion and snatched both of Seamus's wrists with one hand, the other guiding himself to Seamus's ass. He pressed in with ease, having found a nice angle, and stared down with an almost bestial hunger into Seamus's eyes. Of course, if the Irish boy wanted to fight back, he could, but the look on his face and the moans escaping his lips showed he was pleased with the arrangement. Neville used the hand holding Seamus's wrists down to hold himself up, his other hand slipping around the small bottle that lay, nearly falling over, on the bedspread. He worked some into his palm and let the bottle fall, not noticing as it fell to the floor because his hand was wrapped around Seamus's member, stroking in time with his hips as he drove himself into the tight warmth of his companion's body.

The sounds of heavy breathing, of flesh snapping against flesh intensified the faster Neville moved, his hips finding the right angle to hit to make Seamus's eyes nearly roll back into his skull. With every quickening of his hips, he increased the speed at which he pumped his hand up and down, his lips meeting bare chest flesh and leaving a string of kisses and sharp bites in their wake. "Merlin, Nev, that feels so fucking good," Seamus panted.

" _You_ feel fucking good," Neville replied, having broken out in a sheen of sweat. With Seamus below him, with himself sheathed deep inside and driving them both toward the precipice of pleasure, he was no longer bumbling, clumsy, teenage Neville Longbottom. He was every inch a Gryffindor, finding confidence with every moan and groan, every sigh and spasm around his shaft. "I'm going to come so hard inside you," he growled into Seamus's ear, feeling a tightening below that radiated throughout his groin.

"Fucking right, you are," Seamus groaned, arching his back and so near to exploding in Neville's hand that he nearly ached with it. He was completely caught by surprise when Neville pulled back, but quickly caught on to what he was trying to do, and soon had a face full of pillow, his knees up, and Neville sliding into him once more and driving him forward.

This angle was much deeper, with his back end in the air and his elbows digging into the springs, but much more intense, and when Nev's hand worked around him, he knew it wouldn't take much. He felt so full, impossibly so, but when he felt Neville's other hand connect with his ass in a sharp swat that left him tingling, he groaned loudly. When the second slap came, it sent a tingle deeper inside that, when combined with the feel of Neville rubbing against that spot within him, was finally his undoing. He came in spurts across the bedspread and Neville's fingers, sending waves of spasms throughout his core and below. He heard a loud, long moan, felt the other Gryffindor's nails biting into his lower back just above his ass, and then a warmth spilled into him as he felt himself tightening and relaxing, tightening and relaxing against the hardness inside of him. Nev was wracked with small spasms as well, his body stiffening several times with release. He knew they both were spent before Neville's body draped over his back, stubble grazing his shoulders.

There would be time for deciding what the events of the night meant, but neither seemed to find the matter particularly pressing when comforted by warmth and skin, lulled to sleep by pillow talk.


End file.
